My father loved going hunting.  He liked the camaraderie between the men, did what they told him to and was quite a good shot.  He loved his gun and his dog.  Partridge, pheasant and rabbits mainly.

I don't think he experienced any squeamishness at all tho I do remember him telling me about how Bert had told him that often the animal is injured only and it was important to follow the animal so it didn't suffer.  He looked like he'd had a personal encounter with Winnie the Pooh but it didn't stick.

The place he came into his own was the river - he was good at flyfishing.  And my brother could tickle trout.